Peppermint Tea
by GreyLadyBast
Summary: A sweet little hobbit ficlet, designed to tug heartstrings. It started off as having hopped on the sick-Frodo bandwagon, Primula Baggins and Little Frodo. But it's grown past that, into something very difficult to describe. Flame away if you like.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer---yep, it's mine, all mine, MINE, MINE, MINE!!! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!! And if you believe that, I've got a nice bridge to sell you, really cheap. Honest.  
  
A/N---first I sell my soul to the Legomance (work in progress "For the Love of the Lady"), now I've sold it to the sick-Frodo story. By the time the plot bunnies get done with me, I won't have any left to sell to Old Scratch, which will simply ruin my plans for Evil World Domination. So, does anybody have some good plot-bunny repellant?  
  
**Peppermint Tea**  
  
Primula was a butterfly, dancing in the air with others of her kind. She flitted from flower to flower, now climbing, now dipping, now twisting and twirling with the wind. She savored the freedom of flight, the wind under her wings, the scent of the meadow, the attention of the males who chased her but could not keep up. She flew higher and higher, farther up than any butterfly had ever been, straight up to caress the sun with her wings....  
  
"Momma?" a tiny voice jolted her out of her dreams. She came instantly awake, though the transition from butterfly to hobbit matron was a harsh one. That did not matter; her child needed her. She pried open her eyes, leaned up on one elbow and regarded her small son.  
  
"Yes, Frodo?" she said, sleep making her voice husky.  
  
"I don't feel too good," the little boy whined.  
  
"Quietly, Frodo," Primula scolded softly, gesturing to her husband, snoring away on the other side of the bed. "You don't want to wake your father."  
  
"No, Momma," the boy agreed, obediently lowering his voice. He knew full well how grumpy his father got when prematurely wakened. "But I really don't feel too good," he insisted, holding his tummy for emphasis.  
  
Primula sighed. It was the middle of the night, and she really did not want to leave her warm bed. Still, if the baby was sick, then bed would have to wait. Reluctantly, she rose, picked up Frodo and carried him to kitchen of their apartment in Brandy Hall. She made her way over to the fireplace, shifting the boy onto her hip so she could hold him with one arm. With the other, she picked up the poker and prodded the banked embers to life. Then she added a few small pieces of wood until she had enough light to see by and sat down at the kitchen table with Frodo on her lap.  
  
"Let's have a look at you, sweetie," she said, suppressing a yawn. "What hurts?'  
  
"My tummy," Frodo replied, the whine creeping back into his voice. "And my head."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"My throat, too."  
  
"Hmm," Primula muttered. She carefully looked over her boy. He was flushed, his curls damp with sweat. His cheeks were puffy. He flinched when she put her hands on them, feeling the swollen glands. "Does that hurt?"  
  
"Yes, Momma."  
  
"Hmm," she muttered again. She suspected fever, and sure enough, he was warm to the touch. "How are your ears?"  
  
Frodo tilted his head, thinking. "They hurt, too," he replied.  
  
"Open your mouth, love," she instructed. Frodo tried, but he couldn't open very far. Just as Primula expected. "You have the mumps, my son."  
  
"M.mumps?" Frodo whimpered, paling. His cousin Reginard had had the mumps, and he'd been absolutely miserable. His face had swelled up, so had his privates, and he couldn't eat anything. Frodo didn't want to go through that! The child began to cry.  
  
Primula gathered her boy into her arms, stroking his hair to comfort him. "Sshhh, little bee. Everyone gets mumps sooner or later. I had it when I was your age. So did Poppy, though it's a bit more uncomfortable for you lads than us ladies. But I'll take good care of you, my dear boy, and you'll be just fine in a few days."  
  
"Poppy had mumps?" Frodo sniffled.  
  
"He did indeed. When he wakes up, he can tell you all about it," Primula confirmed.  
  
That cheered Frodo up immensely. He idolized his Poppy, and wanted to be like him in all ways. If his big, brave, strong father could survive the mumps, then so could he. The little boy stopped his crying and put on a brave face for Momma. She smiled.  
  
"That's my boy. I'll put the kettle on, make some peppermint tea to soothe your throat and settle your tummy. Would you like that?" Primula asked. Frodo nodded eagerly. "And while the water's heating, I'll get some cool, wet cloths. That'll ease the swelling in your face and privates," she continued as she set about preparing the tea.  
  
"Momma!" Frodo was scandalized his mother would mention his privates like that. Nevermind that she had changed his diapers when he was a baby. He wasn't a baby now, and mommas weren't supposed to talk like that.  
  
Primula laughed. "It's nothing I haven't seen before, my son, so don't you fret. You'll be very uncomfortable when they swell, and they will, if they haven't all ready, so let me help you. I promise I will preserve your modesty, and not tell anyone."  
  
Frodo thought about that for a moment. Already, he was feeling uncomfortable, and the idea of some cool cloths was appealing. Finally, reluctantly, the child nodded. "But I want Poppy to do it after this!" he insisted.  
  
Primula nodded gravely. "Your father will help as he can, but he has work to do, you know." Frodo pouted. She kissed his forehead. "Don't worry, baby. You'll live through this, both the illness and the embarrassment. I promise."  
  
Frodo leaned into his mother's kiss, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He loved to cuddle his mother, but he had to make the token protest anyway. "I'm not a baby!"  
  
"You'll always be my baby," Primula informed him, hugging him and stroking his hair. "Now, let me get those compresses, and the tea, and get you settled back into bed."  
  
She was as good as her word. In no time at all, Frodo was tucked into his bed, cool cloths on his cheeks and crotch, his favorite blanket clutched in one hand, and a mug of peppermint tea, sweet with honey, in the other.  
  
"Stay with me, Momma? Please?" Frodo asked plaintively as his mother turned to go back to bed.  
  
"Frodo, my love, I will always stay with you," Primula replied. She settled onto her son's bed, holding him close while he sipped his tea. "Finish that up, and I will tell you the story of your Uncle Bilbo, the Thirteen Dwarves and the Dragon Smaug."  
  
Frodo nodded eagerly, and obeyed. This story was his very first favorite ever, and Momma told it better than anybody. Better, even, than Uncle Bilbo himself. The boy finished his tea. Primula took the mug and set it on the bedside table, then snuggled her baby close to tell the story. He got her nightgown wet with his compress, but she didn't mind. Frodo sucked his thumb as he drowsed, listening to his mother's soothing voice. He fell asleep, safe in her embrace, still tasting the peppermint tea. 


	2. chapter 2

A/N----I wasn't going to write another chapter, but shirebound asked so nicely, I whipped this up. Don't ask for a third chapter, as there isn't one. Sorry.  
  
**Peppermint Tea**  
  
Many years later, Frodo sat around a campfire in Hollin with the rest of the Fellowship of the Ring. Gandalf, Aragorn, and Gimli were smoking their pipes, deep in conversation. Legolas and Boromir could be seen just outside the camp, gathering extra firewood. Sam tended the fire and cooked. Merry and Pippin chased each other around the campsite, causing Frodo to wonder where in the Shire they got the energy. He himself was wiped out. His feet hurt, his head hurt, and his stomach was slightly upset. The Quest was barely begun, and already Frodo was very tired of it. All in all, he was not a happy hobbit.  
  
He leaned back against Bill the pony and rubbed his aching feet. He was acutely aware of the Ring, heavy against his chest. Not for the first time, he wondered whatever had possessed him to volunteer to bear it to its destruction. Then he watched Merry and Pippin roughhousing, glanced over at Sam so studiously preparing dinner, and he knew why he volunteered. He did it for them, and for all hobbits. He did it for the Shire. He did it for home.  
  
Frodo closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He was beyond tired. Merry and Pippin's laughter faded away as he drifted into that place between sleep and wakefulness. The hobbit's body grew heavy and his senses dulled with near-sleep. He could still feel the pony against his back, still smell the grass, the smoke from the fire, and whatever Sam was cooking. He could smell something else, too. Just before drifting off, Frodo thought he smelled peppermint tea.  
  
"Let's have a look at you, sweetie," Primula said. "What hurts?"  
  
"Momma?" Frodo asked. "How did you get here? Where are we?"  
  
Primula ruffled her son's dark curls. "You woke me up, silly boy. You said you don't feel well. What hurts, baby?"  
  
"My...my heart," Frodo replied. No, that wasn't right. Wasn't it his tummy that hurt? No, it was his face. And his feet. Or maybe his shoulder? He couldn't remember. One thing needed addressing, however. "But I'm not a baby."  
  
"You'll always be my baby, Frodo." Primula gathered her boy into her arms and hugged him tight.  
  
Frodo clung to his mother. But something cold came between them. Something small, or maybe huge, right on his chest. "It hurts, Momma."  
  
"What hurts, little bee?" his mother whispered, cuddling him and stroking his hair.  
  
"The Ring......" Frodo muttered.  
  
"Sssshhh, love. Let me make you some peppermint tea. Would you like that, my son?"  
  
"Yes, Momma. Please," Frodo replied. But he didn't let his mother go. He felt something horrible would happen if he released his grip on her waist. "Momma?"  
  
"Yes, baby?"  
  
"Stay with me, Momma? Please?"  
  
"Frodo, my love, I will always stay with you," Primula reassured. No sooner had the words left her mouth than she began to fade away. Frodo clung tighter, but it was no use. Within seconds, Primula turned to mist, her reassurances disappearing. Then she was gone.  
  
"MOMMA!!" Frodo screamed. "Come back! You promised!! You promised you'd stay!!"  
  
"I'm here, Mister Frodo. I did stay, really. I'm still here, Mister Frodo. Your Sam is still here," a voice penetrated the nightmare.  
  
Frodo felt someone gently shaking him. He opened his eyes and looked around. "Sam?"  
  
"Yes, Mister Frodo. I'm here and you're safe. I stayed. I'll always stay with you, Mister Frodo," Sam said. He stared worriedly at his master.  
  
Frodo yawned and rubbed his eyes. "What happened?"  
  
"You fell asleep, and had an nightmare. You were calling for someone to stay. I had to wake you, Mister Frodo. I didn't know what else to do," Sam fretted.  
  
"No, you did the right thing, Sam. Thank you."  
  
Merry and Pippin appeared, attracted by the commotion. "Are you all right, Frodo?" Merry asked.  
  
Frodo sighed. "I'm fine, really. I just had a bad dream."  
  
"What were you dreaming?" Pippin wanted to know. Good old Pippin, more curiosity than brains. Frodo was very encouraged by the younger hobbit's predictability.  
  
He also knew that if he did not reply, he'd get no peace until he did. "I was dreaming of my mother."  
  
Pippin nodded. "I never met your mother. Did you, Merry?"  
  
"No, Pip. She died before I was born," Merry replied. "But this isn't the time or the place. Let's let Frodo get some rest."  
  
"No, Merry, it's all right. I don't mind. It's a shame you never met my mother. You would've liked her. You both would have liked her. She was the sweetest hobbit," Frodo said.  
  
"But if your parents hadn't died, you wouldn't have been adopted by Bilbo, and then you wouldn't have the Ring," Pippin pointed out, tactful as always. Merry shot him a disgusted look. "What?" Pippin asked when he saw the expression.  
  
"All this goes to show that some things work in very mysterious ways, Peregrin," Gandalf interrupted, coming over to check on the hobbits. Aragorn was close behind him.  
  
"Are you all right, Frodo?" Strider asked, concerned.  
  
Frodo sighed, and did his best not to sound snippy. "I'm fine. I just had a bad dream, is all. I'm fine now. And hungry," he added, trying to change the subject.  
  
Gandalf smiled at Aragorn. Some things never changed, hobbits among them. Sam leapt at the chance to provide for his master. "I've got some nice stew for you, Mister Frodo, and some peppermint tea to go along with it."  
  
"Peppermint tea?" Frodo asked, surprised. He'd thought that was just his dream.  
  
"Why, yes. I noticed you looking a bit peaked, and peppermint tea's good for what ails you," Sam answered, handing Frodo a bowl with a spoon and a mug. Merry and Pippin, seeing no one was going to wait on them, got up to fetch themselves some food. Gandalf and Aragorn followed, reassured that Frodo was in good hands with Sam.  
  
Frodo took the tea and inhaled deeply. He smiled up at Sam, comforted by his friend's caring. "I know. My mother used to make it for me, whenever I was sick. It reminds me of home."  
  
"I'm glad, Mister Frodo. You need to remember home, on a journey like this," Sam observed as he fixed himself some stew and tea and settled down next to Frodo to eat.  
  
"I do, Sam. I really do. You, and Merry, and Pippin, all help to with that," Frodo replied, taking a sip of his tea. It was sweet with honey, just the way he liked it. He didn't ask where Sam had gotten honey. He was just grateful for it.  
  
Then Gimli, who had gone to help Legolas and Boromir gather wood, returned with them. The entire Fellowship settled down to eat, while the hobbits entertained them all with stories of the Shire. For the first time in a long time, Frodo spoke of his parents. It hurt to talk about them, but not as much as he'd expected. Merry chimed in with tales of Life in Brandy Hall, while Pippin told of the Thain and the rest of his family. Even Sam had tales of his Gaffer and their gardens. The non-hobbit members of the Fellowship, far from being bored, found these simple stories heartwarming. They reminded them that there was more to life than darkness and the threat of war. Frodo's nightmare had brought about a pleasant evening.  
  
Somewhere else, unseen but not unfelt, Primula Baggins smiled down on her baby boy, and sipped her peppermint tea. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N---I know I said there was no third chapter to this story, but this scene popped into my head and wouldn't let go. Grab some tissues. You're gonna need 'em.  
  
A/N pt 2-----I have absolutely no idea what hobbit funeral customs are, so I made 'em up. However, knowing hobbits in general, I can easily see it being something of an Irish wake, with lots of food, and friends sharing stories of the dearly departed's life, and toasts to his or her memory. I mean really, hobbits will take any excuse to throw a party, right?  
  
**Peppermint Tea**  
  
Long years later, less than an Age but more than just a few decades, Frodo Baggins lay ill in his bed in Tol Eressea. The West had cured the hurts of his soul, but not even the West could cure old age. It could ease the condition, make it less painful, but nothing could make an immortal out of a mortal. Frodo was dying, and he knew it.  
  
He remembered when old Bilbo had died, shortly after they'd arrived here with Gandalf and the others. Somehow, Frodo had expected to have many, many years to spend with his beloved uncle, but that was not to be. Even from the first day, Bilbo ate little, slept much, and seldom went farther out of doors than his front garden. The old hobbit was ever peaceful, ever cheerful, but he seemed to grow more and more pensive as time went on. He talked every day with Frodo, and Gandalf, and Elrond, but the conversations had a melancholy air to them. Bilbo grew more quiet with each passing week, until he mostly just sat in the sun in front of his little home, dozing. One day, less than a year after they'd arrived, the old hobbit simply did not wake from his doze.  
  
Frodo had not expected to have to endure grief here in the West. He was distraught for weeks, to the point where Elrond and Galadriel feared for his sanity. He walked all night, slept all day, ate nothing. This went on until Gandalf decided enough was enough, and went to have a chat with his friend.  
  
"How are you holding up, Frodo?" the wizard asked after inviting himself into Frodo's home one afternoon. The hobbit did not reply. He only turned away to stare sadly out the window.  
  
"I see," said Gandalf, taking Frodo's measure. "You did not expect to hurt here, did you? You did not expect to lose anyone ever again, or suffer for that loss, did you?"  
  
Frodo shook his head, still staring out the window.  
  
"What did you expect, then, when you sailed West with us?" Gandalf asked, turning Frodo to face him.  
  
The hobbit said nothing for a long time. "I expected to be healed. To be happy all the time, forever," he mumbled at last.  
  
"And it never occurred to you that there are some things that cannot be changed? That your uncle was very old, and would not live forever? Or did you think that simply by being here, he might indeed live forever?" the wizard persisted.  
  
Frodo nodded miserably. He knew such thoughts were foolish. Everyone had warned him that going West to heal would not make him immortal. Even Bilbo had told him straight out that he was healed, happy, and ready to die in peace. Frodo heard the words, but did not feel them in his heart. And so he shut himself down again, and undid all the good Tol Eressea had done for him. He felt a tear slip down his face.  
  
Gandalf reached out and gently wiped away the tear. "Frodo, nothing I can say will bring Bilbo back to you. Nothing I can say or do will eliminate the pain you feel at his loss. However, if your remember what death was like in the Shire, if you deal with it the way hobbits have always dealt with it, then perhaps the healing you seek will happen."  
  
"But how can I deal with it the way hobbits always have? I am the only hobbit here! I have no one to share memories of Bilbo with, no one to share in the farewell meal for Bilbo," Frodo protested.  
  
Gandalf quirked an eyebrow at Frodo. "Have you not?" he asked gently.  
  
Frodo blushed. Of course he had people he could share his memories of Bilbo with! Gandalf, Elrond, in fact most of the Rivendell elves had been very good friends with the old hobbit. Frodo gulped, got himself under control and smiled up at Gandalf. "I am afraid I must excuse myself. I have a feast to plan. Would you be so kind as to spread the word?" he said.  
  
Gandalf, of course, agreed. Bilbo's memorial feast was one for the record books, or would have been had there been anyone interested in recording it. The only downside was that Sam had not been there. He'd been upset when he learned old Mr. Bilbo had passed on before he could come West, but not unduly so. Frodo took Sam up to Bilbo's tomb, and they threw themselves a combined Sam's-Welcome, Bilbo's-Memorial-Part-Two feast. That party, too, was one for the record books, even though it consisted of no more than two hobbits and one party-crashing wizard.  
  
All of that was many, many years ago, however. Now, it was Frodo's turn to be pensive and melancholy. He spent many days thinking about the past, both good and bad. The good memories seemed ever bright, and the bad ones dim and distant, but he reexamined them both with equal care. He wanted to carry everything that had made him, him, to wherever it was that hobbit spirits went.  
  
Age and old hurts had weakened Frodo's body. He was not as spry as he used to be. He moved slowly, and often needed help to walk. Sam did the best he could, but he, too, was growing older. The elves had at one point discussed sending one of their number to care for the elderly hobbits, but neither Sam nor Frodo would hear of it. They liked having their little home to themselves. Both hobbits were set in their ways and had no intentions of changing those ways to suit an elf. They were most comfortable with each other. Each knew what the other needed, and how to give it. They'd settled back into their old roles as if the intervening years had never existed. They did not need an elf to muck things up now.  
  
Frodo sighed. He did not want to be abed today. It was a glorious morning, warm and sunny, and he wanted to be outside. But he could not seem to pry himself out of bed, no matter how hard he tried. So he did what he always did. He called for Sam.  
  
It took a few moments for Sam to make his way into his master's bedroom, but he got there. Without being told what was needed, he got Frodo up, helped him dress mostly by staying out of the way, ready to catch him should he fall, and doing up the occasional button, and walked with him out into the front garden. There, both hobbits settled down on the lawn, letting the sun warm their chests.  
  
"It's a lovely day, Mr. Frodo, isn't it?" Sam commented.  
  
"Mmm," Frodo replied. The friends settled into companionable silence for several minutes. They watched the butterflies flittering amoung the dancing elves, smiled when the wind cooled their faces, and just generally enjoyed the day.  
  
Finally, Frodo spoke. "Sam?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
Frodo took Sam's hand and looked him in the eyes. "I am very old. Older than you, and very, very tired. I think it is time for me, if not today, then soon. I don't want you to grieve when I am gone. Remember how hobbits mourn our dead. Gandalf will help you."  
  
Sam stared, stunned. "Mr. Frodo! You're not going to........?"  
  
"No, Sam, you should know I would never do a thing like that. Especially not here. But I am old, and I feel the end of my life approaching quickly. I am not sad about it, dear Sam, for I've lived a long life now, and mostly it has been good, barring a few little things," he said with a smile.  
  
Sam could not help but smile, even though tears were building. "But I do not want to be alone, Frodo," he muttered.  
  
"You won't be, dear Sam. I fear to tell you this, but you, too, are nearing the end. I think, when I go, you will not be far behind. It saddens me, but you will be reunited with Rosie, and I with.....well, with everyone. It is nothing to fear, dear Sam. Just be ready."  
  
Sam nodded, wiping his nose. Then he stood, brushing dirt off his trousers. "Are you thirsty, Mr. Frodo? I am," he changed the subject.  
  
Frodo smiled. "Yes, Sam, I am thirsty. Thank you."  
  
Sam disappeared into the house. A little while later, he came out, bearing a tea tray laden with pot, cups, saucers, honey, and what he knew were Mr. Frodo's favorite ginger cookies. He settled back down on the lawn, poured two cups of tea, and handed Mr. Frodo the one with lots of honey.  
  
Frodo inhaled deeply the familiar aroma of peppermint. He smiled at Sam and raised his teacup to propose a toast. "To friends, family, and all we love. May we all meet again."  
  
"To kith and kin, and loving memories," Sam replied.  
  
They spent the remainder of the evening enjoying tea and cookies, and trading tales of the old days. They spoke not of the horrible things, except where they had triumphed over them. Sam described his family to Frodo for the thousandth time. Frodo recalled some of the childhood pranks of Merry and Pippin, and the Sackville-Bagginses. They reminisced about the Shire, and about old Barliman in Bree, and Gondor, and Rivendell, and everything good that they could recall. They discussed the bad times a little bit, but mostly only to remind themselves how good had won in the end.  
  
Then, as the sun was setting, Sam took Frodo's maimed right hand. He kissed the stump of finger lightly. Then he looked his master in the eye and said, "I never said thank you. So, thank you, Mr. Frodo, for everything."  
  
"You're welcome, Sam. But I could not have done anything at all without you. So I thank you, too, dear friend," Frodo replied.  
  
Sam blushed. "Well, I must clean these things up before we attract ants," he said, ignoring the fact that there were no ants on Tol Eressea. "You watch the stars come out for a bit. I'll be back soon."  
  
Sam gathered up the tea things and took them in the house. Frodo lay back, quiet and content. His mind drifted. He brought himself back only when Sam returned. "Everything all clean?" he teased.  
  
"Clean enough for now, Mr. Frodo. Some things can wait, some things can't," Sam replied. He sat down on the grass, gently lifted Frodo's head and settled it in is lap. "There, that's better, isn't it, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"Much," Frodo murmured. He lay in Sam's lap, relaxed and happy. He closed his eyes. His mind wandered again. The last thing he was truly aware of was Sam's hand stroking his hair, and the faint aftertaste of peppermint tea lingering in his mouth.  
  
"Welcome back, little bee," Primula smiled, arms spread for a hug.  
  
"Momma?" Frodo cried, running into his mother's arms. "Where have you been? Why did you leave me? You said you'd always stay with me, but you left!"  
  
"I did stay, Frodo. I was always there for you, you just couldn't see me. But you could feel me, couldn't you, baby?" Primula said gently.  
  
"I'm not a baby," Frodo protested.  
  
"You will always be my baby, Frodo," Primula insisted.  
  
Frodo knew better than to argue with that. Instead he asked, "How did you get here?"  
  
"We've always been here, son, waiting for you," Drogo said. "Took you long enough, and a much harder route than I'd've liked, but then, you always were headstrong and far too adventurous for your own good."  
  
"Poppy?" Frodo stared. "Does this mean........?"  
  
"I'm afraid so, my dear boy. It happens to the best of us, you know," Bilbo answered.  
  
"Bilbo?" Frodo did not quite know what to say, so he stated the obvious.  
  
Bilbo was prepared for this reaction. He swept his nephew up in a hug. "It's good to see you again, my lad."  
  
"It's good to see you, too, Bilbo. Is there anyone else hanging around I should know about?" Frodo asked. He had a hunch he knew the answer.  
  
Sure enough, he was tackled from behind, thrown down and mercilessly tickled. He squirmed his way out and stood. "I should have known you two miscreants would be here," he said.  
  
"Miscreants? Us? You are talking to the Master and the Thain, you know!" Merry protested.  
  
"Former Master and Former Thain, if we are where I think we are. Where are we, anyway?" Frodo asked.  
  
"We're waiting," Pippin said simply, grinning like mad.  
  
"Waiting for what?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Him," Bilbo replied, pointing downward.  
  
Frodo looked where Bilbo pointed. Dimly, as through a haze, he could see himself, lying peacefully in Sam's lap, while Sam wept over him and stroked his brow. Frodo's heart broke for his friend. He wished he could go comfort him, tell him he was waiting and would wait until they were reunited.  
  
"But you can't," a female voice said, apparently reading his mind.  
  
"Can't what?" Frodo demanded, spinning around to face the speaker.  
  
"You can't comfort Sam. You can't tell him you're waiting for him. All you can do IS wait, and be here, and try to let him feel you when he needs you," Rosie replied.  
  
"She's right, little bee. There are rules here, hard rules, and that's the hardest of all. To know how wonderful it is, and will be, but not to be able to tell those you leave behind. I had to do it to you, my son, and now you must do it to Sam. He'll understand once he gets here," Primula said.  
  
"But when will that be?" Frodo cried. He hated to see Sam suffer. He hated more that he was the cause of this suffering. Again.  
  
"No one knows, my dear boy," Bilbo answered, patting his shoulder.  
  
"Time moves differently here, son," Drogo added. "Before you know it, you'll be together again."  
  
"Though * I * get to greet him first, Mr. Baggins!" Rosie insisted. "You can have the second turn."  
  
"Hey! What about us?" Merry and Pippin protested.  
  
"Oh, you rascals know you'll just jump him like you did Frodo," the Gaffer said, joining the group. He looked down at his son. "Poor little lad. At least he won't suffer long," he commented.  
  
Frodo turned to stare at the Gaffer. "Pardon?"  
  
"Oh, sometimes he knows who's on their way, is all," Rosie said. "But he never tells anyone else, so it's no good trying to tease it out of him. Just be patient. That's all any of us can do."  
  
"Here, my love," Primula changed the subject by handing her son a teacup. "Have some of this while you wait."  
  
Frodo sniffed it. "Peppermint tea?"  
  
"It's good for what ails you, m'boy," Drogo said.  
  
"And it always comforted you when you needed comforting," Primula added.  
  
Frodo sipped his tea. The familiar taste, always associated with comfort and being cared for, soothed him. He found a seat, not wondering where it came from, and settled down to wait for his Sam. Rosie settled down next to him. When Sam came, they would all share peppermint tea. 


	4. chapter 4

A/N------wouldn't ya know, the Chapter 3 I said I wouldn't write led to a Chapter 4 I didn't know existed? And meanwhile, no less than five other fics languish, unattended. Sigh.  
  
**Peppermint Tea**  
  
Sam sat quietly with Frodo's head in his lap, savoring the moment, for he knew it was the last. He stroked Frodo's hair until his eyes gently closed. Sam watched his master's face for a long while, memorizing every line, just as he did on their journey all those long years ago. Now, as then, Frodo's face looked peaceful, old and beautiful. Sam could still see the light shining through. Briefly it blazed brighter than ever, before it began to dim.  
  
Frodo's breathing grew more and more shallow. With each exhale, Sam found himself thinking "This is it, this is the last." But then Frodo would inhale once more, and Sam would stroke his brow, to soothe his master and let him know he was not alone.  
  
Finally, just as the lingering colors of twilight gave way to full night, Frodo did indeed breathe his last. Sam bent down and kissed his best friend gently. "Fare well, dear Frodo," he whispered, his voice breaking.  
  
Afterwards, Sam was never entirely certain how long he remained there, tears streaming unheeded down his face as he cradled Frodo's cooling body. He stayed long enough to lose all feeling in his legs, just as he'd lost all feeling in his heart.  
  
They were still like that when Gandalf stopped by for his customary evening chat. So silent and still were they that the wizard nearly passed them by on his way to the front door. But no lights were lit inside the small house, so Gandalf realized something was wrong. He looked around for his friends, quickly spotting them on the front lawn.  
  
Sam gave no sign of acknowledgement as Gandalf approached. The wizard took in the scene. He saw Frodo, apparently sleeping peacefully with his head in Sam's lap. He saw Sam's tear-streaked face, lost and lonely. He sat down on the grass next to the hobbits.  
  
"He is gone, then," Gandalf said sadly. Sam nodded. "I had hoped he would last until Legolas and Gimli arrived."  
  
Again, Sam just nodded. He knew his old friends were due soon, but that did not seem so very important now. The only important thing was to stay here, with Frodo, so he would not be alone.  
  
"He is not alone, Samwise," Gandalf replied. Sam had not realized he'd spoken aloud.  
  
"But I am," Sam muttered, "I am all alone now." He broke down, bending over Frodo and weeping his heart out.  
  
Gandalf patted him gently on the back until Sam regained some of his composure. "Would you like me to make the arrangements, Sam?" he asked.  
  
Sam nodded. He was in no shape to plan a proper hobbit wake, even though Mr. Frodo deserved one. He knew he could trust Gandalf to take care of everything, just as Elanor had taken care of everything when Rosie died. Thinking of Rosie set off a fresh wave of grief. Sam had now outlived the two people he loved most in the world. He did not think he could handle it.  
  
Gandalf remained for awhile, staying silent to give Sam his space, yet offering comfort in his presence. But the night grew cold, and the hobbits could not remain outdoors forever. Gently, the wizard took Frodo from Sam's lap, brought him into the house and laid him on his bed. Sam tried to protest, but his throat was closed with tears. He tried to follow, but his legs would not move. Before he could drag himself after his master, Gandalf returned, picked him up, and brought him also into the house.  
  
Gandalf knew better than to try to put Sam to bed. Instead, he settled the hobbit into a large, comfortable chair pulled up beside Frodo's bed. Then, he left to seek out Elrond and make the necessary arrangements.  
  
Frodo's funeral was more of an Elvish affair than hobbitly. Those who knew him spoke a few words, he was laid to rest, and it was over. No singing, no raucous jokes about his life and habits, none of his favorite foods set out for his friends to remember how much he enjoyed them. Sam was silent throughout the whole thing, feeling empty.  
  
He remained that way for some time. He did not go down to the shore when Legolas and Gimli finally arrived a few weeks later. They visited him, of course, and tried to share memories of Frodo, for they were saddened to learn of his death, but Sam remained withdrawn, and they left quickly.  
  
A couple of days later, Legolas showed up on Sam's doorstep alone. When the hobbit did not invite him in, he entered anyway. The elf made his way to the kitchen and puttered there awhile, as Sam sat in the drawing room and stared out the window.  
  
Presently, Legolas joined Sam bearing a tray with a teapot and two cups on it. He sat down across from the old hobbit, and watched him, but said nothing. He simply poured two cups of tea and waited. The scent of peppermint filled the room.  
  
Very few beings can remain composed under the full weight of an elvish stare. Samwise Gamgee, for all his bravery and friendship with this particular elf, was not one of them. He turned to face Legolas. "Hullo," he said dully.  
  
Now that the Legolas had Sam's attention, he handed him a cup. Sam took it automatically, but did not move. "Drink that. I remember you used to say that is good for what ails you," Legolas instructed.  
  
"Nothing is good for what ails me," Sam muttered.  
  
"You miss him, do you not? So much so that you cannot breathe," Legolas took Sam's free hand. "You are dying of a broken heart, little one."  
  
Sam blinked, and reclaimed his hand. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not this. He sipped his tea just to avoid speaking. The silence stretched. Legolas watched Sam with sympathy. Finally, the hobbit could no longer stand it.  
  
"I'm afraid to go alone," he admitted.  
  
"You are not alone, Sam," the elf replied. "Can you not feel Frodo near, comforting you? He is waiting for you, when you are ready."  
  
Again, Sam was surprised. He thought elves valued life above all other things. And so they do, but they also hate to see needless suffering. Legolas had watched elves die of a broken heart before. It was an unpleasant death, one he would not wish on anyone, let alone this innocent friend. If Sam needed permission, and company, then he would have them, no matter how hard it would be on the elf. Legolas had Gimli to lean on, when this was over. Sam felt he had no one. Legolas wanted him to know that he could lean on him, until the end.  
  
All this communicated itself to the hobbit without words. Sam suddenly felt peaceful, and hopeful, for the first time since Frodo died. He began to chat aimlessly with Legolas, mostly about Frodo and their other friends. Together, they finished the pot of tea. When Sam rose to do the cleaning up, Legolas stopped him.  
  
"I will take care of this later. Take yourself to bed, little one, and get your rest. You are not alone," the elf said.  
  
Sam smiled gratefully, and obeyed. As he opened the door to his bedroom, he turned. "Would you stay with me? Please?" he asked shyly.  
  
"Of course," Legolas replied, following Sam. He tucked the elderly hobbit in, then pulled up a chair and sat with him until he fell asleep for the last time. Around midnight, Gandalf and Gimli came in to share Legolas's grief.  
  
"So, you got here at last, Samwise Gamgee!" Rosie cried, sweeping her love up into a joyous hug.  
  
"Rosie?" Sam asked. "Where am I?"  
  
"You're here, silly. With us," she replied, gesturing around at the gathered hobbits.  
  
"We've been waiting for you, Sam," said a familiar, beloved voice.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?" Sam cried. He rubbed his eyes, not believing what he saw. Frodo stood before him, hale and whole, and smiling happily.  
  
"Yes, Sam. I waited for you. I knew you would be coming along soon. But don't call me 'Mister' anymore. Not here," Frodo smiled.  
  
Sam could stand it no longer. He launched himself at Frodo, hugging him tightly. Frodo patted him on the back, while Rosie wrapped her arms around Sam from behind. Then something knocked the three of them down.  
  
"Hullo, Sam," said Merry.  
  
"It's about time you turned up," added Pippin, untangling himself from the mess of hugging hobbits.  
  
Merry helped Rosie up, earning himself a smack on the shoulder. Frodo assisted Sam, who was grinning madly. "You're all here!"  
  
"Yes, son, we're all here," the Gaffer said. Behind him, Bell Gamgee smiled at her son. Several of Sam's siblings were gathered around her, as well as Frodo's parents, old Mr. Bilbo, and many others.  
  
There were hugs and kisses aplenty. Time held no meaning, but it seemed like years before everyone was properly greeted. Then, a few at a time, the hobbits began to drift away into the mist. Soon, only Merry, Pippin, Rosie, Frodo and Sam were left.  
  
Merry looked at Pippin. "Well, Pip, now that everyone's turned up, shall we be moving on? We do have a ways to go yet, you know."  
  
Pippin grinned. "I'm right behind you. Are you three coming?" he said to the others.  
  
"In a minute, Pip," Rosie replied. "You go on ahead."  
  
"Where is everyone going?" Sam wanted to know.  
  
"On," Rosie replied. "Which is where we should be headed, but I want a few moments with my husband before I turn you over to Frodo. You and he should journey together."  
  
"Rosie, you don't need to...." Frodo began. She shot him a look that caused him to snap his mouth shut, take the hint and move away. Rosie threw herself into Sam's arms, and kissed him so that he blushed right down to the hairs on his feet.  
  
"What was that for?" Sam asked.  
  
"Remembrance. And a taste of what you're in for when you join me," Rosie grinned.  
  
"Join you? I thought I'd already joined you. Rose, I don't want to be parted again so soon," Sam protested.  
  
"Who said anything about being parted? We're together forever now, but we've just got a little ways to go before we can settle down. This is just the waiting area. There's still a journey for all of us, but we were waiting for you. And now you're here, and I can go ahead and get everything settled, and you can join me with Frodo. All your journeys have been with Frodo. I see no reason to change that now," Rosie explained.  
  
There was nothing Sam could really say to that, and from the look on Rosie's face, any attempts at disagreement would get him in very severe trouble. Also, Frodo was there, patiently waiting for him. So Sam kissed Rosie as thoroughly as she had kissed him, and asked, "I'll see you soon?"  
  
"But of course, silly," Rosie replied. Then she, too, headed off into the mists.  
  
"So, Sam, the journey is just you and I again, eh?" Frodo said, stepping up to his friend.  
  
"Just like old times?" Sam asked.  
  
"Nothing like old times, Sam. Nothing at all," Frodo replied. He took Sam's arm and set off after Rosie and the others.  
  
"Where are we going, Mr.....I mean, Frodo?" Sam asked as they walked.  
  
"On. I'm not sure where. Someplace wonderful, I'll wager," Frodo answered.  
  
"Do you think they'll have good food there?" Sam wanted to know.  
  
"I should think so," Frodo said.  
  
Sam looked ahead. A bright light was just before them, and a peaceful, happy feeling filled him. "Do you think we're nearly there?" he asked.  
  
"Yes. We're nearly there. It's not so very far, nor so difficult a journey as all that," Frodo said.  
  
"I hope they have ale. And mushrooms. I remember how much you love mushrooms. I'd like to prepare some for you again," Sam said.  
  
Frodo smiled at his friend as they entered the light. "I'm sure they will. But mostly, I'm hoping they have peppermint tea."  
  
FIN 


End file.
